


The Vault of Pandora

by lolodeu



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, DNF, Dialogue Heavy, Explicit Language, Heartbreak, Heavy Angst, M/M, Oneshot, Prison, Trauma, idk what to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 15:42:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30108261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolodeu/pseuds/lolodeu
Summary: The past months in the SMP had been pleasant, comfortable even. He awoke each day already drunk on laughter and companionship. Languorous afternoons were spent sprawled out in fields or strolling, either by himself or with the company of a friend, rarely with a destination in sight. Warmth coursed through him almost constantly. Every embrace, every spout of giggles, every smile and grin all shone like sunbeams. George’s world, once solely dominated by yellow and blue, now brimmed with gold.Yet, that morning, the urge to visit the prison had unexpectedly pulled George from his familiar routine. No one had demanded him to do so, or even suggested it for that matter, but his mind was set.-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------George goes to visit Dream in the Prison
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Kudos: 23





	The Vault of Pandora

**Author's Note:**

> \- This is very, very sad, I am so sorry. 
> 
> \- Also basically just practice for dialogue and description writing, though I hope it's still enjoyable :)

“Face forward.”

Sticky beads of sweat cling to George like dewdrop to grass and the bitter taste of a fire resistance potion lingers in the back of his throat. The magma before him snakes down achingly slow, taunting George with every drawn out hiss and crackle. 

He steals a glance at Sam. The man’s face is seemingly carved in stone, unmoving and unyielding of any emotion.

George turns his head back to the lava, taking a deep gulp of air.

Why had he come?

The past months in the SMP had been pleasant, comfortable even. He awoke each day already drunk on laughter and companionship. Languorous afternoons were spent sprawled out in fields or strolling, either by himself or with the company of a friend, rarely with a destination in sight. Warmth coursed through him almost constantly. Every embrace, every spout of giggles, every smile and grin all shone like sunbeams. George’s world, once solely dominated by yellow and blue, now brims with gold.

Yet, that morning, the urge to visit the prison had unexpectedly pulled George from his familiar routine. No one had demanded him to do so, or even suggested it for that matter, but his mind was set.

He didn’t miss the incredulous look Sapnap had given him when informed, the way he had pressed George, searching the older’s face for some semblance of an explanation. George, in response, had simply shrugged, chalking the decision up to nothing more than a whim.

Sapnap too, had been to visit their friend, months ago, but in no world expected George to do the same. The man rarely took risks, and every step out of his comfort zone stabbed at him like needles, painfully begging to return. 

Still, he had made his way towards the obsidian confinement that loomed in the distance, awaiting his arrival. He had drank the bitter potions, trying not to gag as the sickening combination of magma cream and nether wart hit his tongue. He had signed the books, casually dotting his i’s with the tip of a quill which scratched noisily against the paper. Every task that awaited for him had been calmly completed. 

Now though, his stomach churns with anxiety, only fueling the panic that shoots through his veins.  
Regret floods George’s mind, its forceful current threatening to collapse his weakening knees. There has to be an escape, a way out. Sam will surely understand. _Just say you changed your mind. You’re not ready._

Before given the chance to ask, George catches sight of the prisoner. A masked man, the white ceramic almost sterile-looking in comparison to the rest of him. The dark eyes of the mask bore into his own, leaving George paralyzed.

Dream. 

“George?” His name drips like honey off of Dream’s tongue, intoxicatingly sweet. “Is that you?” The prisoner shifts on his feet to get a better view of him over the divide.

George’s heart aches. 

With a warning from Sam, which George neglects to hear over the pounding of his pulse, the platform begins to move. The sudden lurch pushes him forward, and he attempts to replant his feet firmly on the ground. Behind him, the lava resumes its flow, the molten rock obscuring any possible escape, and subsequently leaving both men to their own devices. 

George can see the man in front of him more clearly now. The mask, though glaringly white from a distance, is webbed with fractures and its grooves settled with dirt. Nothing more than a dilapidated relic of an era long gone. Overgrown hair lies limply at his cheeks, the sunken skin of which resemble an image of a ghost more than a man. From malnourishment or confinement, or perhaps some sick combination of both, George cannot tell. His worn hoodie, an abhorrent shade of yellow, is only accentuated by its fraying edges. For the first time, Dream looks utterly and completely helpless. Held indefinitely at the mercy of the warden and his own cruel fate. 

A canary, stuck in a coal mine of its own construction.

The platform ends it’s journey with a deafening creak, and George places a cautionary foot forward before moving fully to the obsidian lined cell. 

“George?” The prisoner asks again.

George takes a shuddering breath. This is it. “Hi Dream.”

Almost instantaneously, warm arms wrap around George’s back, enveloping him in a crushing hug. He tenses at first, unsure of whether to reciprocate the gesture, but eventually gives in, allowing the warmth of the embrace to wash over him, carrying away his anxieties.  
“I missed you.” Dream’s breath is hot against George’s neck.

“I missed you too.” George murmurs, tightening his grip around Dream. 

Eventually, the two release each other from the embrace. Phantom touches still drape around George’s body, lingering pinpricks of heat.

George takes a seat on the floor, slouching his back against the wall, and scans the barren cell. A clock hangs from the wall, minute hand ticking loudly behind it’s cracked face. An iron cauldron sits beside it, the water mostly stilled aside from a gentle ripple, contributed to a lone droplet that clings to the ceiling. A discarded book lies on a pedestal, a dried inkwell by its side. How was it possible for Dream to be held in such conditions? How is it possible that anyone could’ve?

“So,” George starts, unsure of where to begin. “How’s it going?”

The prisoner settles himself across from George, slouched in a similar position. 

He lets out an amused chuckle and removes the mask, letting it clatter to the floor besides him.

“It’s going George, it’s going.”

George's breath catches in his throat.

Dream’s eyes are devoid of their usual qualities, the typical brightness replaced with a dull and clouded gaze. His skin is rough and paled and a measly stubble casts a shadow on his lower face. 

He scans his face once more, than his body. His hands are cracked and bloodied, cruel evidence of his attempts at escape. His broad shoulders lay limply and hunched. His chest rises and sinks with crippling and shallow breaths, those of a dying man. Not a physical injury, no, but pure isolation was torturous enough. Each desolate day broke another of his ribs, clawed at his skin, and pulled and tugged his hair, draining the strength from his body and drinking it like nectar. 

An uncomfortable silence falls between the two. George focuses his gaze on the floor, furtively trying to count the pieces of cobbled obsidian

“How are things outside George? What’s everyone up to?”

George lifts his head to meet Dream’s gaze.

“Things are... good, nice. Most people are off doing their own things. Tubbo is in Snowchester with Ranboo, they’re engaged now actually, platonically of course.”

“Oh?” 

“Yeah, and Puffy has her therapy business, and now Tommy has his hotel. _The Big Innit Hotel._ ”

At the mention of the boy’s name Dream jerks to attention, eyes glinting with curiosity.

“ _The big innit_ hotel?” He quotes the name in the air. “God, what a stupid name for a hotel.” 

George lets out a short laugh, nodding in agreement.

“What has Tommy been up to though?” The man inquires, “Causing trouble at all?”

George glances up to the ceiling, attempting to recall any recent events involving the child. “Actually… no. He’s just been with Tubbo and Ranboo mostly. I don’t see him much.” 

Dream does not react to the news, gazing quietly at his fingers as George continues to recount more mundane updates about the SMP. 

The conversation (though mostly one sided) reaches a lull, the silence disrupted as George clears his throat. A hand rubs at the back of his neck as he searches for additional topics.

“Oh! Dream. Karl, Sapnap, Bad and I started a nation.”

The corners of Dream’s mouth turn up, but the smile does not quite reach his eyes. 

George attempts to continue despite the unresponsiveness.

“It’s called Kinoko Kingdom and-”

“George, am I a bad person?” Dream interrupts. The words are barely a whisper, an internalized thought being aired. It hangs heavy in the air, weighing down on both men's shoulders.

“Well I mean you did interrupt me just then.” George teases.

“George.” His tone is firmer now, more concrete. “Please… tell me. Am I a bad person?”

The question hits it’s piercing mark, a deadly blow. George’s heart shatters.

“Dream, I-, I-”

Dream speaks rapidly, words spilling out of his mouth. “I know I’ve done bad things George. I’ve fucked up everything. I hurt everyone. I blew up l’manburg, I took the stuff everyone cared about, I hurt Sapnap, I hurt Bad, Karl, Puffy, I hurt _you._ ” His voice breaks at this, and he raises a hand to rub at his temples.

“And Tommy. _Tommy._ ”

“What about him, Dream?”

“Do you…” Dream’s voice shakes, “Do you know what happened in exile?”

George, alongside the others, was only vaguely aware of what had occurred at logsteadshire. Visitors there had been rare, and any details that returned with them were sparse and few in between. Whispers about a beach party, an explosion, a tower. _A death_. Eventually abandoned, it served as a haunting reminder of Tommy’s past. All George knew for certain was that whatever had transpired there weighed heavily on the child. Tommy was not the same as he once was, and most doubted he ever would be.

“What happened in Logsteadshire Dream?” He murmurs, almost afraid to ask.

“I- I made him take off all his armor, throw it in a hole. Made him blow it up. I was trying to-, to-, I don't know, make him listen to me or something.” He gestures wildly with his hands. “ _Fuck_. And the thing is, it was working too. _I had him this close._ ” Dream demonstrates by nearly pinching his index finger and thumb together, an almost imperceptible distance.“ _This close_. And then… I went to visit one day and he had just left. Tubbo thought he died, with the tower and all. I guess more people did too. But I knew. I just knew that he went off somewhere.”

“Dream-” George tries to interject.

The man ignores him.“And I know I shouldn’t have done it George, I know I shouldn’t have. It makes me feel like _shit_ every time I think about it. If I could apologize to Tommy I would.” His yellow eyes are glassy with tears as he desperately searches George’s face. “But I can’t be a bad person, right? I-, I-, I regret it so much you don’t even know.”

“I don’t know” 

“What?” A hurt sound, one that threatens to break George completely. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say Dream.” His voice wavers as a single tear slips down his cheek. “I can’t answer your question.”

“Please… George, please!” He hurriedly stands up, reaching a shaky hand George’s direction. A lifeline. A final attempt at reconciliation, at forgiveness.

George longs to reach out and take it, to forgive Dream for his mistakes, every wrongdoing forgotten and left behind. The temptation plays at him, pressing toxic words to his ear, encouraging him to reach out and interlace his fingers with the man he had once loved. But Dream’s eyes are wild and blank, and the hand of insanity grips him tightly.

He can’t reach out, he knows this. The revelation tears at him, but it is what is right. He is sound in his decision to call Sam back, flinching at every crushing sob that chokes the air behind him. He is sound in his decision to leave, and sound in his decision to not return. 

A tragedy. The oceans and the heavens crash together weeping sorrowful tears. Skies churn and winds rush, taking out their desperation on the world below. The earth rips herself apart in misery, for who could live on ground so cruel. All the travesty, all the despair, imprisoned forever alongside a small canary in the vault of Pandora.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading! I'm using this as a creative outlet but I hope it's something that can still be enjoyed. I'm completely fine with this work being uploaded or translated onto other sites as long as credit is given. :) If you'd like to follow me on twitter, either for updates on my works or just because, the @ is _lolodeu_ :)


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